As for Milan…oh God, what a bloody mess.
The minute she had laid eyes on him in Alcudia, her shock had given way immediately to longing. Longing to be in his arms, to tell him everything was all right and she was his forever, to have a glorious fortnight with him in the sunshine.
His face when he had seen her, all illuminated with tenderness and joy, had pierced her to the core.
“What are you doing here?” she had asked him in a loud whisper.
He had drawn her to a wicker basket chair on the patio, ordered two glasses of herbes mallorquines and taken her hands in his, kissing her fingertips all over.
“I have come for you, of course,” he’d said.
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“But you’re meant to be in the Maldives.”
“Without you? No, it was a desolate place for a man without his love.”
“Oh, Milan, you’re so full of it.” But her throat had been tight and she hadn’t known how much longer she could hold him off.
“Full of what? Full of love for you. I have said I will prove it. And here I am. I have travelled across continents to be with you, because I can’t be without you. Is that proof enough for you?”
She’d wavered. She should have been strong, told him she needed this time and that, by refusing to allow it to her, he was disrespecting her wishes.
But he was so beautiful to her—everything she had ever wanted. Her fatal weakness.
When the drinks had arrived, she’d picked up the glass and had looked hard at the pale green liquid.
“Is this alcoholic?”
His expression had soured.
“I’m on holiday.”
She’d shut her eyes. Here was the strength she'd needed. There was no way she would go back to him while he was drinking. No way in the world.
She’d put her hand to his cheek and had leant forward, speaking softly.
“You’re going to have to do better than that, my darling.”
He’d tossed his head away, disconnecting from her touch.
“Better? Better than crossing continents?”
“Milan, sooner or later you’re going to have to learn that it isn’t about grand gestures. It isn’t about that at all. It’s about being ready to love and be loved. Now go to your hotel and I’ll see you in September.”
“Go to my hotel? Lydia.”
He’d taken her hand, and she’d let him. But she'd known she mustn’t weaken, not one iota. She'd known she must stay true to herself.
“I’m serious. I said I wanted a break and I meant it. I didn’t ask you to come and I—okay, I won’t lie, I’m deeply flattered that you’ve made this effort, but…if you can’t respect my wishes, Milan, you’re not the right man for me.”
Even as she’d spoken the words, she’d wanted to take them back. She’d raced to blurt them out before a rising tide of nausea had burst up from underneath. Was she really sending him away? Had a part of her wanted him to say no and sweep her up and carry her away? Yes. Yes, that stupid part of her had.
But luckily he couldn’t read her thoughts and he didn’t do it.
Instead, he’d nodded, slowly and sadly.
“Okay, I understand,” he’d said. “You need your space. But I don’t give up, Lydia. I never give up.”